Long lost pain
by Toni Harrison
Summary: Spoilers for episode 3.23 End Game. My take on the season finale. Danny narrative. Character death. Pain is a distant blissful memory. Rating is for strong language. (nb: Apologies for lack of seperation between authors blurb and start of fic).


Title: Long lost pain.

Email: Angst

Rating: T to Mature for strong language.

Author's Note: This is my first Without a Trace fic so I post it with some trepidation and nervousness. I'm not a doctor and certainly not a medical expert and that's why I've tried to leave the medical details to a bare minimum I hope that doesn't offend or annoy anyone. I'm normally quite a happy person with a tendency towards jollier fics contrary to what this fic may suggest!

Thanks to Karyn for her feedback on this and also for her support with everything over the last few years.

And finally the disclaimer. I don't produce the show and none of the characters belong to me. This fic idea is mine though.

The feeling of a bullet entering your body can't be described adequately enough I don't think. The after effects even less so.

Ruins your life doesn't even sum it aptly enough.

I remember after Sam got shot, my natural instict as with anything else bad that ever happened to me and anyone I cared about was to jolly them along, crack a joke or two and then if needed and especially if they were a knockout like Sam, to give them a hug.

I don't think a hug would help me now, though then again maybe that'd be different if I could actually feel someone's arms around me.

If someone had ever told me that feeling the bullet enter my body would be the last sensation I would ever feel in my body, I'd have risked any amount of pain or discomfort I felt at the time and begged the bastards to shoot me in the head but no, instead this is it, my life from now on.

A useless piece of shit in a wheelchair. I ain't no Ironside and I never will be.

Martin was the lucky one, I think Sam may disagree, who am I kidding? I know she does. The look on her face when she came back from the funeral and sat next to me gripping one of my useless hands and the tears that streaked her face told me enough.

She comes in to see me most days. She's probably the only one.

The only words I seem to be able to speak these days seem to be bitter ones. I know I should be grateful I can speak but honestly I don't see the need for being grateful, I got shot in the neck for gods sake, I won't ever be able to walk again, I won't be able to go running, I won't be able to dance, I won't be able to have sex and I have to piss through a catheter and to top it all of with this tube in my throat when I can muster up enough energy to talk I sound like Darth Vader with a fifty a day habit.

I am dead in almost every way except for the small fact that my heart still beats. I hate that.

Jack and Vivian have been to see me intermittently. I don't think it's any fun for them coming in to see me when they'd probably get more life and comeback from a corpse.

Vivian does seem to be getting better though and I'm glad about that. I keep convincing myself I'm glad about that. Some days I'm more convinced than others. On those days I just feel jealous.

Jack seems to be cracking up before my very eyes. I find it hard to feel sympathy. He fucked his family up, he fucked Sam up and now he's blaming himself for me and Martin. I think he's expecting me to comfort him and tell him it's not his fault. Why should I though? It makes me happy that someone else feels as lousy as me.

The doctors keep telling me I should see the therapist that there's a possibility no matter how small that I may one day regain feeling in my body. I don't have the energy or the inclination to tell them how lousy my life has been up til now and how if I did start therapy knowing my luck I'd fall over and hit my head and end up with brain damage and never be able to even talk again and live my life as a vegetable.

Come to think of it, that's not an awful lot different to how I am now.

There's a good side of my brain though that keeps arguing with this bad side. That tells me how grateful I should be that I can still talk, that I can still express my feelings if I ever wanted to again. How I feel nothing but overwhelming love from Sam when she comes to see me.

How when the nurses read the letters Vivian writes to me telling me please not to give up, that she loves me and I can somehow recover from this that I feel some kind of emotion other than depression and bitterness. Hope.

That how Fitz is probably looking down on me and is busy cursing me and the fact that I still can one day look forward to eating burgers and turning myself into a fat old aged guy.

I'm like the epitome of Jekyll and Hyde at the moment, except for the fact that in my Hyde moments I couldn't do anything really evil except with my words and with my tongue that I can stick out when I feel like it. Like at Nurse Rosie. She thinks I'm sexy.

Yeah, cos a guy who pisses into his catheter is such a catch. I think she likes my permanent bedhead look. It certainly can't be my good humour. I think the paramedics left it on the sidewalk when they were treating me and as they took me to the hospital.

And so I'm now in this almost schizophrenic state of happiness one minute, a feeling of suicidal depression the next.

I was anyway. Then Raffi came by. I hadn't expected it. I never expected him to be there for me. It was always me for him. I guess it's no surprise that he did come by. He is my big brother after all. He did protect me when we were part of our very own family.

He didn't cry. He didn't sit there and beat himself up over it. He just told his kid brother that he'd better get his lousy ass out of that bed soon and fight this thing. He told his stupid brother that he loved him and he told his brother he would always be there for him.

I cried. I cried like a baby. I cried like I haven't cried in a long time, and it's not been that long really. And cos my hands are useless right now, the tears were just falling down my face and I could feel the salt in my mouth, until Raffie leaned forward and lightly brushed away the tears.

For a moment, I felt it was worth all this shit. Raffie and I were equal now. He didn't feel like he owed me anymore. We could get on with being a family again. Not like before, different. better.

Of course there's still the small problem that right now his brother's a quadriplegic. That his brother is fucked up and jumps at the slightest sound and that his brother dreams of running down corridors and then when he wakes up, for a moment he forgets his condition and then he remembers all over again and it's like someone's kicked him hard in the stomach. Cos he remembers what pain feels like and he would give anything to feel pain again.

But now I'm actually looking forward to the future. The therapist is coming to discuss the regime that she's going to put in place for me to get me walking again. Of course I know it may not happen. But surely it's better to have hope than not. Hope that was all but lost.

Next time Sam comes in, I'm gonna talk to her long and hard about Martin, if she wants to. If she wants to talk about doughnuts and coffee, that's fine. It's her choice. I want to laugh again. I want to be a friend again. It feels right. It feels like I should.

And when Jack comes in, I'll listen. I won't judge the guy. I never did before. The guy who judged him a few days ago isn't the guy I want to know. That was Mr Hyde.

I know it's not always going to be like this. In an hour's time, if the therapist is a he, I'll probably have plummeted back into a depression but only because I'll have missed out on an hour's prime flirting opportunity.

Nurse Rosie'll just get bonus time instead. I'm sure an hour of me cracking jokes and sticking my tongue out at her'll have her falling at my feet. Though knowing my luck, it'll be Nurse Connie.

No, I'll have my bad days. Mr Hyde may show his face a few more times. Dr Jekyll'll be nowhere to be seen but just like before and as I think I always knew but refused to admit I'll always have people at my back. That'll do for now.


End file.
